


Stuck in the Middle

by MissMaxime



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Beth having all the good plans, F/M, Mutual Masturbation, Phone Sex, Sex, Unprotected Sex, also ft James Turner but apparently he's not a tag, and the best of moods, right Dean, that other annoying dude also makes an appearance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:41:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25823824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMaxime/pseuds/MissMaxime
Summary: “I told him we met at a bar and I took you home. And we...” she says, fumbling with her hands, “you know!”“Did some magic tricks?” he laughs, looking at her hands.“Had sex,” she says deliberately. “That it was one time and I have never seen you since. And that I didn’t plan on seeing you ever again.” She pauses briefly. “But then he said that maybe I should reconsider that.”------Canon divergent from 1x05, where Turner tells Beth she should seek Rio out again to gather him more intel OR Beth’s grumpy laments on three annoying men that keep ruining her life.
Relationships: Beth Boland/Rio
Comments: 10
Kudos: 287





	Stuck in the Middle

**Author's Note:**

> I have no excuse. Thanks @audreydear on Tumblr for suggesting this title for the Fake Fic Meme. Guess what's not fake anymore? Viola:

Rio throws his head back and just laughs – no, he’s full on laughing at her. Beth crosses her arms and gets up from the bench they’re seated on and tries to stare him down like he is being a disobedient child. Which, judging by the volume increase of his holler, amuses him even more. 

“I don’t see how this is funny,” she complains. 

And she _knows_ he’s not afraid of the FBI, he told her as much before. Probably even gets off on the attention, making his noise and all. Whatever that means. 

“So, lemme get this straight,” he says, leaning back against the backrest. “You told Jimmy we were fucking.”

Beth pulls a face and slumps down next to him on the bench. 

“And now homeboy wants you to crawl back into my lap and get some intel,” he finishes. 

“That’s not how I’d phrase it.”

“That ain’t what he said?”

And, look, it’s not like she hadn’t thought about it ever since they had the conversation in her car. Okay, maybe it has been on her mind more than she’d like to admit. But it was for sheer crime-related purposes! She had to think her story through before she waltzed into Turners office, which in the end might still have been a compilation of _‘Beth and Rio’s greatest hookup hits’_ she’d been playing in her mind. But it’s the thought that counts, alright. 

“I told him it was a one-night-stand and I wasn’t planning on seeing you again.”

“That all?” he asks, already knowing that there’s more to the story. “Bet it wasn’t. Made me sound so damn good he’d think you’d go running back the second he told you to.”

“That’s not what happened!” she snaps, cheeks burning. 

“Yeah, what happened then?”

It takes her a few seconds to rack her brain to decide which details she can leave out. Because honestly, he doesn’t need to now all her private thoughts. It’s not like he’s an oversharer. “I told him we met at a bar and I took you home. And we...” she says, fumbling with her hands, “you know!” 

“Did some magic tricks?” he laughs, looking at her hands. 

“Had sex,” she says deliberately. “That it was one time and I have never seen you since. And that I didn’t plan on seeing you ever again.” She pauses briefly. “But then he said that maybe I should reconsider that.”

“Why? He so concerned about your sex life?”

“Ew, no.” Oh, god, was he? Of course not. “He’s going to tell everyone about the affair – my husband, my kids. And I don’t need someone to blow up my life like that.” Like it’s not in shambles enough as it is, she sighs to herself. “So, can’t you just play along for a little bit? Keep it up for a few weeks, pretend we’re seeing each other, etcetera.”

“Yeah. What do I get outta this while you get to keep your little dollhouse?”

Her first instinct is to say: Well, being eternally grateful to me for risking my life and reputation. But instead Beth leans towards him. “He wants information,” she says under her breath, conspiring. “I could give him anything you want.”

He looks right ahead, mulling over what she said. Surely this must sound attractive to him? What gang leader doesn’t want someone on the inside? This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, and he’d be an idiot to think otherwise. Turner agreed that it would be foolish for her to wear a wire, with the getting naked activities he assumes they’ll be indulging in, so he couldn’t even check if what she’d tell him was genuine. 

“Cool. Let’s give it a go.” Rio gets up from the bench and holds his hand out for her. 

And. _Cool?_ Really? This is her life we’re talking about. But let’s not look this gift horse in the mouth right now. 

She takes his hand and he pulls her into him immediately. Before she has a chance to make a scene about it, he puts his lips close to her ear, giving her shivers. “You have a tail on you, lover.” And _hands!_ her mind screams as she feels him circle her waist. He pulls back a little, only to have his other hands brush back her hair behind her ear. “Whattaya wanna do about that?”

And – okay – maybe the reality of this whole situation hadn’t really dawned on her before this moment. She’d figure they would just meet at a few nameless motels, close the blinds, and watch a movie or something until she could rough up her hair and leave for the safeness of her own home. Not, you know, actually touching him. Now that he’s doing exactly that, she can’t really say that it’s unpleasant, it’s actually, kinda good. 

She looks up at him through her lashes. “Maybe give them a show?” she says innocently. 

“Neat,” he says, before leaning into her and capturing her lips. It’s almost chaste at first, the way his warm lips move over hers. But now that she’s had a taste, she wants more. It’s instinctively, how her hand makes its way to the nape of his neck, holding him close. He smiles against her lips as he moves his own hand to her ass, making her gasp, which he immediately takes as an invitation too deepen their kiss. Beth starts to feel heat bloom in her chest when he pulls away. 

She’s trying her hardest not to appear out of breath when she touches her lips. “Yes. Neat,” she says, before much unneeded clearing her throat. 

*

It’s all downhill from there. 

And no, it’s not that Turner doesn’t believe them. She can tell he still has his doubts, but there’s no reason to call them out. 

No, it’s the way Rio is having an absolute field day with this arrangement. 

Even though he keeps his hands to himself with their next drop, her phone is now drowning in eggplant and water drop emoji’s (which she may or may not had to look up online to get a grasp on – It’s not like she could ask Annie! “Excuse me, sister. Could you lend me your thesaurus for this sexting thing? Our boss and I have this new way of communicating lately.”) Reading his messages wasn’t really the problem, she just completely blanked out with her reply. 

Apparently waiting twelve hours with replying to a sext gets you a lewd picture. Or, well, it’s not even that bad. It’s just him, his naked torso, and his hand on a bulge in his pants. She licks her lips as she keeps staring at the pic before _“Beth!”_ She scrambles with holding her phone in her hands.

“What?” she bites back. And maybe that’s not the appropriate reaction when your husband’s telling you about his latest cancer treatment. 

She wraps up that talk faster than she probably should and excuses herself to her bedroom. If Agent Turner is tapping into one of their phones, she should send Rio something, right? It would be highly suspicious if she doesn’t. That’s what people who have affairs do right? Send each other suggestive pictures? 

It’s probably the two-and-a-half glasses of Bourbon she already had, but she makes her way to the bathroom and looks at herself in the mirror. And is that still a thing? Mirror selfies? Most likely it’s not, he didn’t. Maybe just mirror him on this one. She adds a little more lipstick and fluffs her hair before moving back to sit on the bed. 

It takes a few tries to sit like she wants, and she unbuttons her blouse a little more, pushing her boobs up. Finally, after over thirty pics, she settles on one that has her in frame from her mouth down ‘til her midriff. 

Before she wastes any more time thinking this over she sends it. 

It’s not until 2AM she hears back from him… because he calls. 

“Hmm hello?” Beth mumbles, still half asleep. 

“Whatcha doing, baby?”

It’s barely there, but is he slurring a little? “It’s the middle of the night, what do you think I’m doing?” she groans, as she checks her alarm clock. 

“Can’t stop thinking about your tits.”

Beth awakens immediately at that and scoots back against the headboard. She’s glad he’s not video calling because she feels a traitorous flush expand along her chest and cheeks. “Oh- _oh_ really?” she squeaks. Of course she didn’t plan any of this, but now that she has already made out with her happy-go-murder boss and send him a suggestive picture of her breasts, she might as well commit. “I’ve been thinking about you too.”

“Yeah,” he rasps. “What you been thinking about then?”

Oh, no. No, no, no. no. He was supposed to take the lead in this! She’s not completely sure if she hears a low chuckle on the other end of the line, but two can play that game okay. “Uhm, just thinking about the day we met. How you bend me over the breakfast table.”

His breath hitches. “That right?” She feels kind of smug dropping this bomb on him like this. And truly, she’d been planning on telling him what she had told Agent Turner about what should have been their one night stand. But after their kiss at the park he got called away for an emergency so she’s been sitting on this ever since. 

“We didn’t make it to the bedroom.”

“You didn’t even try, did you darling. Wanted me to hit that right where your happy family had their pancakes and whatnot.”

For professional reasons Beth has crafted that particular fake memory into perfection, and she can’t help closing her eyes to broadcast that clip in HD in her head. Ok, she might have extended the catalogue a little too in the past days, but what’s a girl gotta do when they’re hauled up in the school gymnasium listening to the plans for yet another bake sale to fund the school band? 

Rio grunts on the other side of the line. And, no. “Are you masturbating?” she hisses. 

He chuckles low in his throat. “Thought you wanted to do more things together.”

It’s too late to reconsider his suggestion when she slides her hand past the waistband of her pajama pants and into her underwear. “Okay, I’m doing it too,” she says, with oh, such want and longing. 

And she is doing it, okay! It’s just awkward and weird, and he has not been very helpful either. You know, scratch that. She’s perfectly capable of doing this on her own, she’s had some years of practice, thank you very much. Who needs the big bad of Detroit to bully them into an orgasm? Not Beth. 

Like, have you seen him? It’s just her luck that her next ticket to fictional Bonetown is this skinny-assed goth (yes, yes – it’s a very short list of debatable dislikable external features. Especially when you consider the previous ride was a frumpy piece of dough of a man that gladly left the derailed train that was their sex life behind and so-longed right into any open garage at Boland Motors) who’s set out to ruin her life from the inside-out. 

“You gripped me real tight when I fucked ‘ya. Never had it that good.” And he just _tells_ her! He doesn’t even ask. Just makes a statement like he has any idea how the testimony of their fuckery went down at all! Stupid idiot. 

Her face _burns_. It’s not just because hearing him panting through the speaker and because her fingers are doing wonderful things between her legs. It’s just, what does she say? She just got this emoji/sexting thing down, yet here she is, rubbing one out to Mr. Annoying Himself as she imagines him hoovering above her on all fours, stroking himself while murmuring sweet things, filthy things, into her ear. 

“I’ve had better.”

She can’t believe she just said that. It’s just, he doesn’t just get to have that. This. Her. Whatever. He’s just using her for information anyway. Turner’s using her for information. She’s kind of tired of being the get-go-girl of all things men can’t acquire for themselves. He can go get his own stupid orgasm if he wants it so bad. 

“C’mon, Elizabeth,” Dream Rio drawls into her ear. “Gonna come for me?” he asks, unbuttoning her pajama shirt (it’s for the better that it’s Dream Rio – however comfy her Pink Sprinkled Donut sleepwear is, it doesn’t exactly scream ‘Come fuck me, Handsome’), exposing her breasts. She mewls her release into his open mouth as she trashes on the bed. “Wanna come on these,” he says, as she feels the ghost of his hand on her tit. 

“Yeah.” 

_“Hmmmm, fuckfuck, feel so good baby, ahhh.”_

Oh.

She forgot all about Real Life Rio. What would he look like now? Pants wide open on the couch, muted reality show on the TV? Was he actually thinking about her when he came, or someone else? Oh, god, was he even alone? Judging by the silence, and soft sounding pants, the latter’s probably a ‘yes’. It better be. It’s one thing being crime-wed into a course of Cheating 101 by a smug faced FBI agent to his potentially even more smug faced archnemesis, but she does have standards. 

Not in the mood to go do things like washing her hands, she just buttons up again and draws up the covers. 

She wonders if this is what Dean felt. Not the actual sex thing (and could she even file this under that anyway? It’s fake. She barely knows Rio – he’s just the next jerk bringing havoc into her life), but the tinge of relief, a splotch of paint falling into a glass of water – within a blink of the eye it’s dissolved, but for a second it was something pretty to behold. She feels good, but she’s not sure she actually feels better. 

“I have to go,” she says. He hums before _he_ hangs up. Goodnight to you too. Asshole. 

*

“I’m sleeping with the enemy.” Beth can only describe Annie and Ruby’s facial journeys as going from a rapid invasion of alarm into a still life of epic horror. “Well, sorta.”

Neither of them moves – and Beth touches her hair briefly to make sure she didn’t sprout a nest of snakes up there. 

“Agent Turner thinks I am.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Ruby asks. Although, it sounds more like a shriek peppered with disbelief, shaped like a sentence. 

Look, in the end this whole affair (well, pretend) will only be a bleep in the whole six-month plan scheme of events. It’s nothing anyone has got to worry about. “You two can’t come to the drops anymore.”

“You’re firing us?” Annie blurts accusingly. 

“Homeboy is,” Ruby pipes in, seemingly resigning to the situation with a big ol’ eyeroll. 

“Nobody’s firing anybody!” Beth yelps, high-pitched. Ok, so maybe this isn’t going as smooth as she might have hoped for. But let’s not pretend there haven’t been some protests from these two sitting across from her at the counter to begin with. As far as she knows, Turner knows nothing about their criminal side hustle – thinks she’s just a scorned housewife getting her rocks off with a sizzling cup of evil, inked latte. 

Annie’s face suddenly melts into a puddle of lewdness, and the rapid speed she wiggles her eyebrows with makes Beth fear they might fall off. “Wait. Are you?”

“Am I what?” Beth asks, with an insincerity that doesn’t even try not to break the happy-mommy face she’s fronting. 

Ruby narrows her eyes. “Who’s doing the drops, Beth?”

She’s got this all figured out, alright. Dean arranged for the kids to sleep over at Judith’s – he didn’t actually tell her why. But when your husband has a tell-tale of nervous sweating and a repertoire of ‘eh, eh, eh’ – along with a constant questionnaire of what he can do to make it up to her; he’s obviously preparing a fruitless effort to win her heart back – or put her back in her cage, either of those, both. You know, it’s irrelevant. Point is, she’s gonna bounce as soon as she’s done giving him praise over whipping up a poor quality version of whatever chef's recipe he’s got the hots over this week.

“I’m meeting him at a hotel.”

“ _Hmm,_ ” Annie replies, “And ew. Mostly ew, actually. Gross even. Why are you doing this?”

“I don’t want my family to fall apart.”

“So you’re fornicating with our local crime lord.”

“Who says ‘fornicating’?” Beth asks, scrunching her nose. “And we’re not really. You know. Doing that.” Ok, well, they’re not _not_ doing anything. You know, from now on, there may only be Dream Rio. Real Life Rio be gone! With his useless… hands. Great comeback, inner Beth, maybe spend a little more time forming sentences instead of crafting new sex dreams. 

“So, what will you be doing, _Beth?_ ” Annie steals a brownie from the pile Beth has spend a ridiculous amount of time perfectly arranging – and, rude! “Something tells me gang friend isn’t going to let his BDE score drop dramatically just so you can do a quick wham bam thank you ma’am.”

Sometimes she wishes she never taught Annie words at all. 

“I don’t know. Watch a movie or something?” It has pay-per-view, she checked. 

“Oh, _a movie_ , did you hear that?” Ruby nudges Annie, who’s equally amused. “I bet hotels have a whole range of good movies for a night like that.”

Annie points at her, having a _this is a brilliant idea_ -face. “Womb Raider 6.”

“Oh my god,” Beth sighs, deeply exasperated. 

“Gangbangs of Detroit.”

“The Boobyguard 2!”

“Really? Never matched up to the original, if you ask me.”

Beth shakes her head, she doesn’t deserve this mockery. 

*

Dream Rio has been badgering her all day. Judging her with his dumb face when she tries to figure out to wear for her faux extra-marital activities. What do people who have affairs wear? Yes, first she has that thing with Dean (she’s seen the groceries in the fridge. He’s aiming for some chicken pasta pesto. But to underline just how much he doesn’t know her, there’s some blasphemous store-bought pesto – it’s not even the expensive one. He might as well jump on the table and scream _‘Run, Beth, run!’_ through a speaker), but it’s fair to say her low hopes aren’t exactly fueling her to change into a come-get-me outfit. 

Ruffles? _“Nah.”_ Flowers? _“Really, ma?”_ Jeans? _“For real?”_

Maybe she _should_ get laid tonight. 

That absurd thought thankfully gets blasted away by an influx of _‘It's gonna take a lot to drag me away from youuuu’_ – Ugh, Dean. 

“Hi, honey!” she smiles sickly sweet over the phone. She holds a few more pieces of clothing in front of her while Dream Rio stalks around her – being all judgy. 

“Oh, no! Held up at work? Are you sure that’s a good idea with the cancer?” 

She’s only half-listening when Dream Rio finally gives a tinge of a nod at a dark green wrap dress she’d been hiding in the back from before she had Jane. “No, I’ll be fine. Maybe I’ll see go see Annie. You know how she gets when Sadie’s not home.”

No, he doesn’t have to get takeout. No, it’s alright. (She’d get some pizza, god knows the only ingredients Annie has lurking in her cupboards are for a no-fail dish of food poisoning) No, she’ll trust that he’ll be fine even though he has a life threatening disease racing through his veins. When he says he has to stay late because Brian’s bad at the books she bites right through her lip in an attempt to refrain herself from bringing up _his_ flawless system of hiding unopened IRS letters in file cabinets and praying it will all go away. 

_“What’ya gonna do, mama?”_

Beth looks at the dress in her hands. She has worn it before. Back when she still had three kids, or just a little more than two. Remembers buying it in one of those couture pop-up outlets Annie insisted on going to, back when fringed moccasin boots were all the rage, but also cost about six million dollars. Which was about 5.999999 million dollars more than Annie and Greg had to spare while living in Greg’s parents’ guesthouse. 

She remembers zigzagging through a flood of twenty-something fashionista’s, ripping and tearing liquid leggings off the racks and nearly strangling each other over boho headbands. It was truly a sight to see. But she also felt a little lost. Where she could imagine Annie could vent all her missed schoolyard squabbles, Beth just felt, nothing, really. 

Not until a beautiful Pakistani girl emerged from the fitting room and bumped right into her. “I’m sorry!” she yelped, while Beth made her own excuses. “Take this!” she said, shoving a ball of green fabric into her hands. “It’s super-wide at the bust, must be a factory error. But it’ll look banging on you!” Before Beth had time to sort out the insult to compliment ratio of that statement, she’d taken off to join her girlfriends. 

She was right though. It did look banging on her. 

It was 80 dollars, but Dean and she were about to celebrate 20 years of dating, so she figured the cost would justify the cause. Then, no. Maybe this was just for her, once, she thought, caressing the trim. It wasn’t like any dress she owned, the fabric felt expensive, hugging her arms, flowing naturally from her hips, embracing her waist rather than cutting into it. It made her feel good and whole. 

It’s a little tighter though, now. Her breasts straining a little more against the fabric, showing more cleavage than when she bought it. Her hips a little wider, filling out the dress a little more. It’s not something she would wear to a PTA meeting, or an office party. But then again, that wasn’t where she was going now, was she? 

_“Looks good, ma. Make me wanna rip it off.”_

And. Ok. That should probably be the mood she’s going for. 

She’d texted Turner she’d be meeting Rio again, and where. She knows there will likely be a tail on her, or them maybe. It’s just, it’s been a week, she doesn’t think Turner is a man who has a lot of patience waiting for results – she’s got to give him something. 

_I’m early,_ she starts texting Rio, when she takes a seat at the hotel bar. 

_“You can do better.”_ Dream Rio is pushing it. 

But, sure, fine. _Waiting for you ;),_ she texts, sending along a picture of her Bourbon in her hand.

“Hey, you!” Agent Turner gleefully greets her, dropping into the seat next to her. _Kill me now_ , Beth groans internally. What is he even doing here? Rio could saunter in any minute. “Want a drink?”

Beth eyes her bourbon, before drifting her eyes back to him – flatlining any emotion from her face. “I’m good.”

She wonders if Agent Turner has any hobby’s other than trampling her mood like a wild flock of buffalo’s. 

“Meeting your friend, huh?”

“Yes, so I was thinking you should leave.” And by _leave_ she means for him to get squished under a falling piano. The thought underlining even more how much she would prefer to live in a dream instead of this actual nightmare. 

He slides his hand into his inside pocket and extracts some kind of device, Beth pensively narrows her eyes at it when he puts it on the bar before realizing: “I’m not recording myself having..,” she hisses, scandalized, flailing her hand in a way that in no way translates to the mechanics of having sex, but he seems to get the drift anyway. 

“And something else,” she declares, riled up with angry splotches of red appearing on her neck. “You still haven’t told me what you want me to get from him. I don’t even know who you think he is. _I_ don’t know that!”

The staggering volume of how men keep woefully un-informing her in her life is really starting to overboil. First the cesspool that is Dean, one that seems to have a never-ending goal of wearing away everything she is and has. Second, Rio, who seems to think a healthy boss-employee relationship consists of fragmentary workorders and a severe ignoration of her personal timetable. And now this asshole.

Whatever this mollified expression is he’s beaming back at her; it really sparks the need to cathartically punch him in the face. 

Her glare is evidently useless as he pushes the device towards her. “Good luck, Mrs. Boland.” She quickly bags it and Agent Turner takes the clue to finally take a hike and leave her to wallow in her fury. 

*

Rio’s sucking and licking her neck as they fall back against the door of the hotel room. By now it’s become an unnecessary display of his appetite; the drapes are pulled shut, the door is closed, she is about 68% sure there isn’t an FBI agent listening at the wall of the other room with a glass attached to their ear. For how terrible Rio’s verbal communication is, his hands and lips are having a very clear conversation with her body. 

She can’t say it’s comforting more than distracting. To feel something else over the constant push-and-pull from those toxic male ego’s that tarnish her liveliness every day. Whatever it is she feels when she’s with Rio, while often laced with crippling annoyance, it’s something that has bubbled to the surface ever since they met, something that was dormant, something that makes her feel alive. It’s terrifying and exciting all at once. 

Her hand sneaks in between them and she softly pushes him backwards, feeling loss at the distance. 

“What do you want, _Elizabeth?_ ”

“Nobody calls me that.”

It sounds weird. She tries to voice it out in her head. Hears Annie call her ‘B’, her kids hollering ‘Mom!’, mom’s at the school bake sale say ‘Beth’ – too chipper and sprinkled with a too sweet tone, Agent Turner’s mocking drawl of ‘Mrs. Boland’, and last Dean calling her ‘Bethie’ – it never really occurred to her how dull and lifeless it actually sounds. She runs ‘Elizabeth’ trough all their voices, but none of them sound right. Only when Rio says it, it makes her feel more whole than it should.

“I want you to fuck me.”

In all the ways Rio’s usually calm, collected, smug or a combination of all of the above – the expression he’s got on his face now is absolutely priceless. Sadly, that tinge of astonishment quickly fades as a faint smile starts twisting at his lips. 

“Still had better?” he grunts into her ear, driving relentlessly into her from behind. 

There was a part of her wishing they would be bad together. But it’s quite the opposite, they’re very, very good. Upfront – or, well, maybe just the part between the bar and the hotel room – she figured this could be like a showcase of some sorts. Like more of the psychology experiment variety, not the sorts of how your violent crime leader completely dicks you down into next Wednesday kinda sorts. She’s known Rio for all of four weeks, the fact that he’s able to make such rapture surge through her veins like her husband of twenty years has never made her feel is just cruel.

His hips snap harshly against her, then he stills completely, buried fully into her, when she denies him answer. She’d _booo_ if that were even remotely appropriate in this situation.

Silence prolongs far too long in her mind, even though she has closed her eyes and tries to focus on their sync breathing. Only his hand finds his way to her soft belly and he pulls her up, plastering her back against his sweaty chest. His caress is too tender, it’s inappropriate. A wavering sigh escapes her lips before she opens her eyes, before she sees them in the mirror above the vanity. 

“No,” and she’s sincerely praying that he doesn’t latch onto how loaded that is – or at least has the decency to ignore it. 

She turns her head, to really look at him. Before she has a chance to let gibberish fall out of her mouth, he captures her lips in a shallow kiss. And she’s not entirely sure if he’s being nice, or if this is some kind of mockery of affection. But it’s what she’s going to take. 

Afterwards they lay next to each other on the bed, regaining their breath. And Beth now realizes she probably completely miscalculated this whole thing. Originally, she did set out to play some competitive tonsil hockey with him at the bar, maybe make him cop a feel before retreating to the elevator. After that it should have been strictly business – exchange their money and chill out with a vast collection of miniature alcoholic beverages. Not-

“Can’t believe you made me cum inside you,” Rio breathes hot against her cheek. 

Yeah. You and me both, buddy. 

She flexes her hips, and he immediately lets his hand drift down underneath the sheet to cup her center. His mouth has fluttered down to an exposed nipple, humming around it merrily as he strokes her between her thighs. 

“What do I tell Turner?” she asks, trying very much not to tumble into another round of bedroom rodeo. And phrasing it like that conjures maybe a whole other range of scenarios she wouldn’t be opposed to exploring. 

He bites her nipple, making her yelp. “Rio! Don’t do that,” she scowls. 

“What? ‘Fraid you can’t flash hubby ya tits?” 

Regardless of his repeat observation of ‘you’re so tight, baby’, she’s definitely not going to indulge him with the Snoozefest Saga of her sex life of the past decade. Especially because flashing might be a footnote at best – and she’s not ready for any of his laments on what a waste that might be. She hopes her heightened irritability translates through the frowning of her eyebrows. 

He’s perceptive enough to take the hint. To nobody’s surprise the info is vague at best. Something about the pharmacy relocating to Neverland, and that Ricky the Snake has sung a lullaby. It all sounds like hocus-pocus to her, but Rio assures her Turner will know what it all means. It’s probably better that she doesn’t know (in her defense – she only accepted after he assured her it had nothing to do with her or the counterfeit). 

Rio gets out of bed to make an actual call – not the one she supposedly overheard. Which leaves her alone with her thoughts. She really wants to go take a shower, but Rio’s hogging the bathroom with his stupid crime. So she just lays there, drawing the sheet up to her chin, waiting for all the pesky guilt and remorse to crash down on her –– except that it doesn’t. And, _how?_ It’s not like she hasn’t been doing the hula-hoop of shame with all nine circles of hell lately. 

It’s annoying her. She eyes the bathroom door, can still hear Rio’s muffled sounds through it – he’s been ignoring her long enough now. She gathers the sheet around her and pulls the door open. Rio whips his head around, phone still plastered to his ear. He does that dumb, sexy thing where he licks his lips and checks her out – but that’s not going to work now, mister! “Yeah, kinda in the middle of something,” he continues his conversation. “Lemme know when it’s done.” 

“Am I a bad person?” she blurts. It takes her half a second to realize she’s using her outside voice instead of her inside. “I mean,” she regroups – noticing Rio’s increasing lewd expression, “don’t you ever feel bad?” 

“’Bout what?” he asks, crowding her. “’Bout this?” he continues, stroking a strand of hair behind her ear, before leaning down and crashing into her lips in a filthy kiss. Leaving her panting and wanting. Jerk. “Nah,” he drawls, pulling away. “You?” 

It’s harrowing how hard realization hits her; it’s not just that she doesn’t feel bad, she feels good – like, real good. Better. It’s been filling her up ever since they robbed the grocery store, wrecked Dean’s office, laundering the money – slowly it’s been pushing away everything that made her feel rotten and numb. 

“What am I telling Turner?” she asks again, igniting his annoyance. She clocks that. “No, I mean, what am I _actually_ telling him? What does it mean?” 

Rio pushes the door behind her open, walking her back into the bedroom. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, ripping the sheet from her. She flushes instantly, and he chuckles as he takes in her spreading blush before pulling her into him. 

“I want him gone,” she orders, defiantly. 

He squeezes her hip, smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Which one?” 

She emulates his smile before capturing his lips. “All of them.” 

Maybe sleeping with the enemy-of-your-enemy (who’s actually your friend), is not actually the worst. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked i! I had a blast writing this fic.
> 
> thanks for leaving kudos or comments!  
> You can also find me on missmaxime.tumblr.com


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